


more than a warning

by otherthings



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Blackmail, F/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Threats of Violence, yeah friends this is dark and i'm terrible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherthings/pseuds/otherthings
Summary: Karen gets way more than she bargained for -- or, the warehouse scene goes very differently.





	more than a warning

Wesley had her. He knew he had her. That small sly quirk of the mouth, the hands folded neatly across the top of the table – they were all the words either of them could have said to each other. His eyes were invisible behind glasses opaque with reflected light from the ugly, piercing fluorescents in the warehouse ceiling, but she could feel their icy blue as he regarded her with sick satisfaction, like a cat looking at a mouse in its paws.

 

“They’re safe,” Karen said stubbornly. “You don’t – can’t have –“

 

Wesley actually _laughed_.

 

“They’re in the office now, Ms. Page. Working late. My men are in the building – four of them, two to a man. Mrs. Nelson and Murdock are outnumbered and very, very unaware of the danger they’re in.”

 

“You fucking _bastard –“_ she started, but she did not lunge, did not attack. Any violence would mean the end of her friends.

“ _Language_ , Ms. Page,” he said, mock affronted, another show of power. His hands did not leave the table, but his smirk widened, just a little, growing more crooked to the right in a way that would have been quite handsome if it hadn’t been so utterly devoid of real emotion. “You must understand – I don’t _want_ your friends to die. It’s just…a precautionary measure. Collateral, if you will.”

 

“Right,” Karen said, her voice hollow. “If you don’t want my friends to die, then what _do_ you want?”

 

Something flickered in Wesley’s expression, something dark, something ugly. He laughed again, a deep chuckle, and shook his head slowly, incredulously. “You really, _really_ have not grasped this situation, have you?”

 

Her gut tightened.

 

“What I want,” he said, still sitting with his hands folded, still hiding behind his glasses and that stupid _fucking_ smirk, “What _I want_ is for you to _pay_ for what you’ve done to my employer.”

 

He stood suddenly, the legs of his chair scraping along the ground with a terrible shriek. He really was very tall, Karen realized, taller than she’d thought, and he walked to her in two paces, and then he was right there, leaning over her, and she wanted to _hurt_ him but she _couldn’t_ or Matt and Foggy would die, and he knew that, and it was clear from the look on his face that he liked it that way.

 

She could see the outline of a gun in the inner lining of his suit. She swallowed, hard, and said, with false bravado, “Just, well, just shoot me then.”

 

Wesley cocked his head, mock considering it. His grin was deeper now, feral, and she could see his canine teeth, as though he was snarling. “Mm…no,” he said, “No, I don’t think I’ll do that. I don’t think that would be enough.”

 

She could see enough of his eyes now that she could tell they were fixed on her face, drinking in the barely-suppressed rage and hints of fear in her expression. As he moved even closer, she held his gaze, until he walked behind her chair and she could look at his face no longer without turning around, and turning would mean losing the small comfort of her feet squared firmly on the floor and her back tense against the chair. He was directly behind her now, standing so close that she could _feel_ him, his presence at her back, and he leaned down and in, so close that when he spoke, his breath warmed her earlobe in a way that sent shivers from her neck to the small of her back.

 

“I want you to hate yourself,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “I want you to feel like you have failed to the very core of your being, that you have betrayed something _fundamental_ within yourself.”

 

He rested a hand around the back of her neck, his fingers curling in enough to exert pressure but not enough to hurt, his thumb angled to cover the pulse point under her jaw. Her heart thudded, thudded, and she clenched her teeth so hard she swore she could feel the enamel chipping. He moved his hand until his palm covered her windpipe, his thumb now monitoring the pulse point on the opposite side, and her breath was coming short, through her nose, and shivers of fear and hate and something _else_ were travelling through her chest and down her spine and coiling low in her.

 

“Stand up,” he said, his voice dangerous as sin. She swallowed and immediately regretted the way it made her throat bob against his palm, and the shocks of static that sent through her.

 

“I can’t,” she said shortly. “You’re making it impossible. I’d have to lean forward and I obviously can’t when your hand – “ she gasped involuntarily as he tightened his grip ever so slightly, enough to cut off her words, but it was only for a moment – he obviously realized her point, and he slid his hand around to the back of her neck. She leaned forward, deliberately too much, and he leaned too, his hand still casually but firmly gripping her neck, and then she stood. The whole chair was between them now and it would have been so easy, so easy to use her foot to ram it back into his shins and drop him and make a run. To goad her, he nudged the chair just enough to press in to the back of her calves before using his free hand to clear it from between them, shifting his grip back to the front of her neck and pulling her against him in one fluid motion.

 

“I know what you were before those lawyers scooped you up,” he said, too close to her ear again. His thumb was directly over her pulse, pressing in so that it would have been impossible for him to miss the way her heart jumped as his lip brushed her ear. She held herself still, so still, because otherwise she would have struggled and hurt him and that would have been the end of Foggy and Matt right there.

 

“You don’t know shit about me,” she hissed back, but the hum of his answering laugh against her spine made her heart beat double and she hated herself for it.

 

“Oh, I think I do, Ms. Page,” he said, his voice low and playful and threatening against her ear, his breath making the hairs on the nape of her neck stand at attention. His thumb rubbed small circles on her throat and she shuddered, partially with revulsion and partially for reasons she did not want to think about. “I think I know a _lot_ about you, and what you like, and what you don’t _want_ to like.”

 

Despite herself, she tried to jerk away, but his hand tightened around her windpipe and his other hand caught her right arm and twisted it against her back and between them, his weight holding it there just on the edge of too painful to bear, and she cried out in an aborted sputter and she swore she could hear the brutal satisfaction in the small chiding noises he made to her, “Ah – ah - ah,” as though he was scolding a dog.

 

“This is low,” Karen croaked once she could breathe again. “Even for you, this is low, standing here getting some sexual satisfaction from me like this – ah!” He had twisted himself in towards her, just a little, in a way that sent a jolt of pain from her elbow to her shoulder.

 

“Correction,” Wesley said, a sneer evident in his tone. “This isn’t sexual for me. This is revenge. For you, though –“ he scraped his nails just lightly, so lightly, against the sides of her throat, and she gasped in a way that wasn’t all fear, which made him chuckle knowingly, infuriatingly. “Well. I think it is a little sexual, isn’t it?”

 

“ _Fuck. You,_ ” she snarled, and at that he pressed his lips to the skin where her jaw met her neck and _sucked_ and she yelped, aflame, and twisted in his grasp, which only served to bend her arm and send further shocks of nerve-tingle through her body. As she stilled again, panting, she realized suddenly that he wasn’t lying, or he was inhuman, because he wasn’t even hard; pressed so tightly against him, she knew she should have been able to feel his arousal, and there was nothing, nothing at all. Clearly, for Wesley, this wasn’t about getting off – it really was about revenge for what she’d done to Fisk.

 

For some reason, that scared her even more.

 

“Oh, oh, Ms. Page,” Wesley said, chiding again. “Ms. Page, Ms. Page.” She could feel him shaking his head behind her, as though he was disappointed. “You have _no idea_ what you’ve gotten yourself in to.”


End file.
